[Flashback] Rainy Days and New Ways (Tarn)

[Muldris Koffurn]

14th of Fall – 509 AV Koffurn sat in the wet alley and shivered profusely. The rain drifted down from grey clouds as breezes whipped through the streets. He had tried to stay dry, but the meager shelter offered by the alley ensured that he was drenched soon after the rain started. The ex-slave didn’t really mind the cold and he didn’t mind being wet, but the combination had a special way of making him especially miserable. He had his hood pulled up, but there were no sleeves on the hooded vest so Koffurn had pulled them inside his clothing leaving him with no visible arms. He would whistle or hum if he could, but his life had left him with no songs or music. At times, he wished he were a slave again. Actually, he pretty much always longed for the ended days of slavery. Even a meager meal of soulmist sounded appetizing at the point of starvation he had reached. His mouth watered a little thinking of the thick pink slop that Spiritists used. There were some in the street and even a few people in the alley with him, but they were merely shadows clinging to the edges. Their features were hidden by their bowed heads and huddled bodies. Maybe I should go over to the slave markets and just sell myself. I’ll have food and house and master... Koffurn sat there and thought about eating. His Mizas had slowly drained through his days of being free. He wasn’t prepared for life outside the shackles of servitude. He couldn’t fend for himself. Koffurn figured death would come any day know. His bones would be harvested and sold to some Maledictor like his master had been... like he was. It would be an interesting fate indeed, but death had stayed away and perhaps something would happen soon that would drag him away from death’s door. Koffurn glanced around again. If he could just make a friend, all the pain wouldn’t be so much more bearable. He kept to himself though. There were many dangerous people in Sunberth. He was smart enough to know that despite his sheltered upbringing. He sat on his own in the shadows of a dark day. Koffurn thought about going to beg but he was never very successful. He lived off of the meager bits and pieces he could get, but the rain was making it harder to find food and generous people. He should probably have gone over to the big orphanage, but the boy Legate didn’t along with many of the other kids. Koffurn looked down the alley again as a shadow approached. He was scared and relieved at the same time because he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to die yet. The shadow approached and Koffurn tried to push against the wall to try to remain unseen, but there was no place to hide in the small alley so he accepted his fate with wide eyes and beating heart.

[Tarn]

Another day, another coin. Tarn grinned as he felt the weight of the heavy coin purse at his side - and to Tarn the fact that it had enough money to buy himself a good meal was what he considered 'heavy' but by no means was it bulging at the side of his body - and that little bit of coin put a little swing in his step. The unfortunate part of the role that he played was that when he got found out, the father of the daughter that he managed to get a few coins from found out and wasn't particularly impressed with the fake story that Tarn had weaved in order to get the woman's coin purse to loosen up for him. It was a sad tale about him being a distant cousin of the man's sister, and that they were brought to Sunberth with the hope of escaping the overbearing government of Sylrias but nothing went as planned. The pretend sister and Tarn's fake father (who had married the pretend sister one night, in a scene reminiscent of a romance novel and in fact was a scene from a novel that Tarn had read for just that very reason) had both died of disease and left Tarn with nothing. He had to fend for himself and get along with whatever scrapes of food he could pick off the streets or fight dogs for. Nothing he had ever came easy. In truth the story wasn't that far from his own history which made retelling it to the woman with the coin that much easier, it made the tears well up in the corners of his eyes just a little more realistic instead of looking like crocodile tears. The only punishment that Tarn took from this, however, was catching the blade that the man lunged at Tarn with in between his hands, deflecting the blade away from his throat. The soft part of his palm had been cut, just along the life line - ironically enough - and all that he could bandage the wound with was a scrap piece of cloth that he managed to swipe from a merchant with a slow eye. It was difficult to keep his left hand still and not moving so the blood would cease and a scab would form. Given the perfect cut of the blade into the soft flesh it made it difficult, as the smallest movement of his hand opened the wound up and made it ooze the precious red liquid into the cloth. Tarn tried his best to let his hand hang free at his side as he turned from the main drag into a darkened alley. He didn't want to take a chance that the man would be out in the streets cursing for vengeance and calling out Tarn's alias. He would have to shave off the month-old beard from his face and clean up to try and look different than the ragtag homeless man that he pretended to be to the woman out of pity. Maybe he could spend the coin on a good bath... The smallest hint of movement was enough for Tarn to notice as he got into the alley and noticed the pile of a boy on the ground, trying not to be noticed. Tarn frowned when he saw that automatic reaction out of fear of what would happen. The alley was not a safe place for anyone, not even Tarn, but his slick tongue and quick hands would be able to get him out of most sticky situations. He paused as he saw the darkened and dirty boy in the corner, huddled into a small nook of a building that was clear of garbage and debris. He looked down to him with a smile and tilted his head to the side as he observed him. While Tarn did look rather ratty himself, that smile belied any sort of threat that the boy might think he posed standing there in the middle of the alley. "Hey, kiddo. Shouldn't you be learning how to pick pocket or something? You have all your adult life to slum it in the alley in the rain." Tarn sniffed the air for a moment with a friendly chuckle. "This nose is never wrong. Unless you enjoy the damp, cold, and lonely alley..."

[Muldris Koffurn]

Was that a... joke? Humor... Koffurn thought longingly. His last master had never made jokes and the masters before that were similarly humorless. He tried to think of what people did when they heard jokes. They laughed, but he couldn’t really bring himself to do so. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed, but he managed to make some sort of sound close to a laugh through a frowning mouth. It felt less than right... It felt down right unsettling. Koffurn managed to scramble onto his feet and pushed himself up using the alley wall. He took a step towards the tall stranger and bowed. His voice was devoid of terror but full of confusion, “Hello, sir. Errrr... Good evening or afternoon, sir. I am afraid I have lost the time of day as well as my manners. If there is any way I am be of service to you, I would gladly be of service to you...” The last sentence was painfully awkward and he bowed again to the stranger. “If you have no use for me sir and was just inquiring into my wellbeing, I assure you that I am fine, sir. I was just thinking about heading off to the slave markets to turn myself in... Sir!” He added hastily. “I fear the streets aren’t exactly fit for someone of my stature or skill set...” The ex-slave looked at the kind man with awe. He had never been so close to someone so tall. The man could have been a god for all he knew. Some god of kindness and tallness... He jumped with terror as he remembered he had not introduced himself. He could hardly speak without shaking, “My apologies sir. I neglected to introduce myself. I am Muldris Kof-...” He gave a shy laugh. A real laugh... What an odd feeling... He continued, “Koffurn is the name a gave myself, sir. I am sorry... It’s foolish, but I figured most free men have last names so I should have one because I am free now, but I guess I will drop it when I go back to the markets.” He stretched and waited for the man to either dismiss him or ask him to do something. The rain caught collected on his eyebrows and streamed down his face in long lines. Koffurn slowly began to grow suspicious and afraid of the stranger. While these reactions weren’t his natural inclinations, his brain started to think more logically about the stranger. Is it kindness or malice that brings him to me? The conditioning to serve out weighed his suspicions so he didn’t run. He waited. The Legate shifted his weight. Standing felt odd and he wasn’t quite comfortable, but he had to out of respect and servitude.

[Tarn]

The first reaction from the boy was something very unexpected of a slump of a mess that was previously hiding up against the wall like an abuse victim. The change in demeanour and tone was like he was expecting Tarn to be something more than he was; someone more like an aristocrat than a street thug. The bow made Tarn's eyebrow shoot up as he stood there with his arms folded over his chest, the wounded hand sitting there rather uncomfortably. The fact that he confessed to, more or less, being a slave made Tarn question the young man simply with an expression alone as he knew of no slaves that wanted to voluntarily go back into slavery ... unless that was all they had known their entire lives. "No, no servicing required. I'm quite self-sufficient. Thanks." The manner of speech that the boy kept speaking in almost made Tarn think that this was some education kid, or somehow an educated slave, as most kids and people of Sunberth that Tarn knew didn't speak so eloquently. "The streets are for those that know how to survive, regardless of height. Though the fact your idea of surviving in the street is sitting in the corner of a dark alley behind a butcher shop, well, you have a lot to learn. I assume that you're, uh, not really from around here are you? If you want to go back to the slave market I can show you the way." And while Tarn was at it, maybe he could try and sell the boy back to the market and see what sort of coin he could get for him. If he could convince this kid to try and act smart and proper, he could probably fetch a pretty coin for him. Just need to clean that face, and maybe get him some clothes that didn't look like they were dirty scraps thrown into the garbage. Tarn smirked at the laugh from the man as he introduced himself as he attempted to find the humour in his name - and he didn't find any. "I'm Tarn. Just that. Means a lake or water or something - nothing special. No surname, nothing fancy and I'm as free as I want to be. So if you want to drop that first name and just get called whatever your little heart desires, feel free to go to town. But if your goal is to get to the slave market, I can assure you that you'll probably be called something worse than Muldris.." His eyes locked on those of the kid in front of him as he could sense there was some sort of inner turmoil or "deep" thoughts going on in his head, but what those were about Tarn couldn't even imagine. Maybe he was attempting to weigh the pros and cons of going back into slavery. From what little Tarn could assume about the boy in front of him, maybe it was best he was kept safe from the streets of Sunberth and placed back into an institution that he was familiar with, instead of tossing him out there where kids that talk like this kid get their throats slit. "So what's your choice, buddy? Slave markets or, uh, other?" While he didn't want to sway the kid's opinion, Tarn sincerely hoped that it would be the other. He wasn't sure what he'd do with the kid if he asked for another option, but there had to be something better than slavery. And even though Tarn didn't want to carry the extra baggage of a wet-behind-the-ears kid with him, leaving him on the streets was a surefire way to see him as a corpse on a cart next week.

[Muldris Koffurn]

Tarn... Sounds like a good name, but no surname? I thought that surnames were valuable. I thought that they had power... Well obviously they didn’t because ol’ Tarn seemed pretty strong and he didn’t have a surname, but can one really drop a surname after they had adopted one? Koffurn didn’t really know, but he didn’t really care either. He wondered for a minute what he would want to be called. People aren’t called by their first and last name so he had to decide. He spoke with a short pause between each word, “I... would... like to... be called... Koffurn. If you prefer another name, sir, you may call me whatever you prefer sir.” He gave a weak smile in an attempt to seem like he was happy or something besides empty. Koffurn looked back in into Tarn’s eyes. The man seemed strong and independent. Tarn could easily survive by himself. He didn’t need a master or provider. He provided for himself and did so well. Koffurn could tell by his demeanor and look. He hadn’t had much contact with people besides his masters for the majority of his life, but instead of that making him ignorant, it sort of made him sensitive to people’s more subtle characteristics. Tarn could give him the confidence, hope, and resolve he needed to survive in Sunberth. He needed to keep Tarn around and befriend him. The more Koffurn thought about it, the more his will to be a free man grew. Tarn would help him, but Koffurn wouldn’t be debt when he was barely just freed. Debt was another shackle he would avoid. Tarn offered to bring him to the slave market made the ex-slave realize something else. The bearded man would probably sell him! He was independent and a master of survival. Koffurn was practically handing Tarn a small bag of Mizas by offering himself. That is when Koffurn learned another lesson as a free person... He did not like being used. With a newfound confidence, he replied, “Other. Unfortunately for you, I have decided that I would like to be free... I would like your help... What are you? Some sort of thief?” “You can help me, and I believe that I can help you too! We will be friends or allies. I need them and you can probably never have enough,” he said, now more confident then he should be. Koffurn had abilities that most run of the mill folks didn’t. He would offer them to this Tarn character in exchange for a renewed life. Koffurn projected his arm. Disconnecting it was slow, but soon his arm’s astral body was free. He reached over with it and tried to poke Tarn’s nose but missed and poked the man’s forehead. “See... I can be useful...”

[Tarn]

"Well Koffurn it is. I could find many other things to call you, but I doubt you'd enjoy them." Tarn said with a smirk as he looked over his shoulder down one direction of the alley then turned to face the other. No one else was walking down the alley that he had to worry about so he focused back on Koffurn with a pleasant smile. His decision to not go back to the slave market was a smart one, Tarn thought, but one that would ultimately cost him some coin in that he wouldn't be able to sell the odd boy. But maybe he'd have more value than merely being just a kid that talked kind of funny. Tarn automatically scoffed at being called a thief and shook his head with a dissatisfied grunt. "Wouldn't call it some sort of thief," Tarn corrected the kid, "Just someone that knows how to take advantage of a situation. Thieves are dirty men that think they know how to pick a pocket five different ways without you knowing, but the best of thieves you don't ever see or hear. So if I was a thief, as you assume, I would be very bad at it considering you're still standing there. Though I'm not sure what of value you have on you, either.." The projection magic was something that Tarn wasn't expecting as that almost ethereal projection reached out and touched his forehead. He took a step back from that display of that astral body and frowned at it. While he had seen a lot of things in his youth, astral projection (or whatever the kid would call it) was something that he hadn't experienced before. With a raised brow and a big grin, Tarn nodded his head at the application of this little talent to some half-baked plans that Tarn was sitting on in his head. "That could be useful, I suppose. Just have to see how good you are at it, is all. And what would you want from me, in regards of help? There wasn't a manual or guide that I read in order to be able to survive out here. It's nothing but common sense and streetwise observation. If you can't spot danger coming at you, you deserve it." He said with a little shrug as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he stood there, contemplating. Someone with that sort of power would be pretty neat, Tarn supposed, for playing sentry. Or scoping out a place before Tarn would physically be there. But that sort of work was something Tarn was capable of doing himself without the need of magic trickery. "What else can do you?" Tarn said as he reached out and tugged on the kid's sleeve. "Anything else hiding up there that might be useful?"

[Muldris Koffurn]

“Point taken... Thieves don’t enjoy being called thieves. Sort of like how Maledictors prefer to be called Legates...” He grinned happily. He had a friend or at least a real breathing alley at least. Koffurn had tried to befriend some ghosts, but they weren’t very good company. They tended to be not very interested in him. A large part of the problem was that he couldn’t scrape together the ingredients for soulmist, and if he could collect the ingredients, he wouldn’t do anything but eat it. His stomach gave a sharp growl that made him squirm uncomfortably. Tarn wasn’t as surprised as Koffurn had hoped, but he seemed to be marginally impressed. Projection was probably the ex-slave’s favorite thing to do besides Malediction, but projection was far more useful when there weren’t any bones or bodies to work on. With pride and confidence, he responded, “I can detach my arms... More experienced folks can do their entire body, but I can’t do that yet. I can do pretty broad actions like picking things up or pushing light objects, but the objects have to be fairly light... sir.” Koffurn wasn’t used to talking about his magic. His master had told him to keep it a secret, but he needed Tarn... and he figured his abilities were the only way to get the man’s interest and company. What else can I do? “I can do some stuff with ghosts but not too much, sir. I can make a pretty poor soulmist and spot them pretty well,” Koffurn said with a little doubt. He looked up to the cloudy sky and let the water wet his face and dance on his eyes. He pondered whether to tell Tarn about Malediction. The Legacy has been a fairly demonized art. The name change to Malediction reflected the negative feelings towards it, but he may as well lay out the whole truth. Tarn didn’t seem like the type to be particularly adverse to less wholesome arts. His “money acquisition” methods were arguably just as bad. “I am also what most would call a Maledictor, sir. Well, not really I guess... I can do little. My old master was one and I would help him work so I would soak up some knowledge... I can make magical things from dead bodies. Well, I know how to... I’ve never made one without him, sir,” Koffurn whispered. It felt good to say, but the Legate still regretted telling Tarn. Would Tarn leave him? Would Tarn judge him? Perhaps he will be interested in it... People like power and master said he could give power with his items... Perhaps Koffurn was in over his head when dealing with Tarn. “So what do you want to do? All I need from you is a day living... I am sick of surviving.”

[Tarn]

Tarn's knowledge of magic was fairly limited, so when the kid mentioned Maledictors what little knowledge he knew about them bubbled to the surface. They were dark, dark powers that they used and had to do something with bones of monsters and humans. They could control parts of what the monster or person was or something to that effect; something dangerous. But this kid didn't seem that dangerous, but that could be part of his allure. Part of his charm, part of the bait of the trap that Tarn would simply fall for. He narrowed his eyes at the kid as he explained further the limits of his powers and Tarn remained silent for a moment, not out of astonishment of what the kid could do, but what he could do with the kid to exploit such powers. It never occurred to him to utilize someone like Koffurn as he had never thought about using magical ways of getting to the goal in mind. Now that there was this option, however, he'd have to think about it a little harder in order to come up with some creative ways to get something out of reach. "Magic things... from dead bodies. Like spells and candles and stuff?" Tarn asked with a raised brow, trying to assume what the kid would say about this power over dead corpses. Tarn had always seen them as more of a hindrance as they would alert others of tomfoolery that was afoot, but they were useful in that he could impersonate the corpse if he knew about them before snuffing out their life. "What can you do to dead bodies, anyways? Make them dance like puppets?" Tarn chuckled a little, hoping that Koffurn wouldn't be that offended at the little joke. "For starters," he looked Koffurn's clothes over. They weren't so much clothes as rags of what were clothes at some point in the kid's life. The dirt from the street and the alley clung to him and would take a good scrubbing to get his body clean and looking more like a human and less like a piece of trash. "You need to get cleaned up, get some clean clothes and maybe some food? I have a place we can do that in that's not far, so I hope you can walk upright like a regular person. There's nothing more I hate than drawing unnecessary attention, so I'm not about to pick you up and coddle you like a child. As long as you can carry your own weight I don't have a problem with showing you stuff. Just don't expect a parent. Got it?"

[Muldris Koffurn]

Koffurn felt a little joy when Tarn seemed interested. The boy had to remind himself that not everyone was quite as familiar with magic as he was. He had spent the last five years working with a practitioner of many arcane arts, but most people haven’t and thus lack the knowledge he considered common. Not everyone has seen what I’ve seen or felt what I’ve felt... The thought was a somber one, but it made him feel a little good too. The idea that he was special gave an odd satisfaction. When he was a slave, he was garbage, but out in the world, he could be great. Tarn’s questions amused him, but Koffurn decided that Tarn didn’t really need to grasp the entirety of what he could do. He simply nodded and said, “Yes, spells, incantations, and stuff. Candles if it’s dark...” He decided that staying vague would be good. This way, Tarn wouldn’t be able to easily decide whether Koffurn’s magic would be of use. The Legate feared if he didn’t find it useful, he would leave Koffurn on the streets or drag him to the market. He laughed at Tarn’s joke more due to the man’s ignorance of magic rather than the humor in it. The amusement found it’s way into his voice, “Yes, I can make them dance and sing and speak... sort of...” Technically, he could make them dance with his projection, and he could surely talk to them... if the dead left behind a ghost. In truth, he could only use the remains of the body but not much else, but if Tarn wanted some sort of corpse manipulator, Koffurn could play the part. The idea of getting cleaned and new clothes didn’t sound particularly great to him, but Koffurn couldn’t resist the thought of food. He nodded eagerly. Tarn didn’t want to attract attention and the boy understood. He nodded, “I can walk just fine. Slaves aren’t exactly encouraged to slouch around all day... not good ones anyway. Posture was one of the first things I was taught.” He sounded almost proud, but there were definite undertones of bitterness. Koffurn was a bit proud though. He considered himself quite the upstanding slave. “I don’t want a parent!” Koffurn said sharply. “Parents are just like masters it looks like. They tell you what to do, when to do it, and how. That doesn’t sound like freedom to me. I’ve lived all my life under the will of some rich guy here or wealthy man there... Why on earth would I want a parent? They seem like garbage to me...” He wondered if Tarn had parents of if he simply was an orphan. Koffurn figured orphan due to his line of work, but people were always surprising him. He almost dared to ask, but decided that if Tarn wanted to talk about it, then he would respond to Koffurn’s little rant about parents.

[Tarn]

"What sort of things could you do to a dead body? Get them to reveal their secrets? Get them to kiss you? Or, dance, I guess?" Tarn was intrigued by this possibility. Maybe the kid was able to pull out secrets from a corpse that a person hid during their lifetime? That would be infinitely useful, though a bit overpowered and he started to doubt if the kid in front of him could really do something so powerful. If this ability was something that he could do, why would he waste his time in the streets, befriending rats? Tarn smirked at the idea of a slouching slave and realized the ridiculousness of his statement. The slaves that he had seen in Sunberth were all properly "trained" on how to act, talk, and in some cases walk properly. A slave wasn't a person, they were a thing, and as such had to look nice around their master and those that the master was around. A slave that preferred to slouch didn't last long. "Parents aren't exactly garbage, but they're not masters either. You would do smart to listen to one with the hope that their words or "will" will guide you to being all you can be," Tarn chuckled as he reached an arm out and patted the boy on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll set you up good and proper. Just don't get dead." He looked down the alley and gestured for the kid to move. "If we're going to get you fed and clothed, best get you out of this place ye?"